Désespérément perdu à toi
by Italy's Driving
Summary: Alfred thought his life was normal. Well, as normal as it can get. But strange things start happening around him. And it all seems to have started around the time that he met the new, attractive, neighbour; Francis. It all started with the death of a rose... (rating may go up later)


Chapter One: La mort d'une rose

 **Oops. My fingers slipped. And I came up with this idea. When I was deadheading my own roses. Which, by the way, are dead for the winter. I'm not sad. I hated them. Actually, I kinda love them. I only say I hate them 'cause deadheading is annoying. Anyway! I'm sorry. But. I feel no shame for using America to create an armada of ships. Oh! By the way, this is actually human AU. Yea… I do not own Hetalia! Onto the chapter! The chapter title means The Death of a Rose, or so I'm told. I'm not actually fluent in French. Many other languages, not French. My sister is, however. The title of the fic itself is Hopelessly Lost to You.**

THERE ARE OVER ONE HUNDRED SPECIES OF ROSE

Monday night found Alfred where it always did. Sitting on the couch at his grandmother's house, steadfastly ignoring the world while messing around on his phone. Alfred was a young man of sixteen, with golden hair and eyes bluer than the sky, though they were hidden by the glasses he wore. His name was a hyphenated combination of Finnish and Swedish and no one outside of his family could pronounce it.

"Alfred." his stepfather, Arthur, spoke up just as Alfred was thinking of him. Alfred set down his phone.

"Yo?" Alfred asked.

"Would you deadhead your grandmother's roses?" Arthur asked. Alfred sighed exasperatedly, but stood.

"Do I have to?" Alfred asked in a whiny voice.

"Yes, Alfred. Please, just do it," Arthur said. Alfred sighed and walked with heavy feet out of the house. All the while grumbling and bemoaning his life.

"Why can't Matthew do it?" Matthew was Arthur's biological son. By some bizarre twist of fate, Matthew and Alfred looked almost exactly alike. Though Matthew was quieter and didn't share Alfred's lame leg.

"I _always_ have to do this," Alfred continued in a mocking version of his grandmother's voice, " 'Are you going to do the roses today? I would appreciate it.' God, I hate these damn roses."

By the time Alfred was done with all the bushes (there over fifty!) it was dark, it was cold and Alfred's leg stung with a fierce pain. He also had several scratches and grooves into his arms and hands from the bushes. Alfred threw his clippers across the yard. They flew over the cinderblock wall across the yard. A splash echoed from over the wall and Alfred groaned, rubbing his face. His grip on his walking stick tightened and he limped across the yard, looking over the wall when he reached it.

"Aw, really?" Alfred asked himself, looking as the clippers followed the river down stream. He looked back at the roses.

"This is all your fault, you know that? I hate you. I wish you'd just die," Alfred said to the roses, not actually meaning it.

Without his knowledge, gem blue eyes watched Alfred as the boy limped away from the wall. The eyes followed the boy, noticing how his muscles rippled under the skin as he adjusted the ornate walking stick he had. The owner of the eyes recognized that cane. He recognized the flowering designs carved onto the head, the silver veins running through the whole thing. He wondered what was wrong with the boy's leg. What made him grip so tightly onto that cane with his right hand. Was it an injury? Something he was born with? Most likely the latter, as that would be what drew him to the boy. Either way, something drew him to the child. And he wasn't planning on letting go.

WHILE THEY ARE CALLED THORNS, THEY'RE TECHNICALLY PRICKLES

A week later, Alfred found himself back at his grandmother's. When he limped in, Matthew walking in behind him, he found Arthur and Berwald-his father-comforting his distraught grandmother while his uncles crowded around her. It was no surprise his uncles were there, it was nearly Christmas, which meant that his cousin was probably there as well. His grandmother was near hysterical.

"Hey, what happened?" Alfred asked, walking up to the kitchen island.

"S'm't'h'n'g h'p'n'd t' t'e r's'e's," Berwald said. Alfred blinked.

"Wh-what? But… I just did them last week, they should be fine," Alfred said.

"They're all dead, Alfred. And not just for the winter," Arthur said. Alfred shook his head.

"No, no, that's… not true. That can't be true!" Alfred turned and ran out of the house as much as he could. As much as he said he hated the roses, he didn't actually. The roses were a constant in his life. They were the one thing that had never changed since Berwald had met Arthur. They had been there before and after the surgery on his leg, they had been there when Alfred begged Berwald not to marry Arthur. Not to let Arthur and Matthew and Peter into their lives. And when Berwald refused. They were there when he cried at the wedding. They were… dead.

"No…" Alfred stared at the roses, falling to his knees, " _Nej, Gud, nej_ …" Alfred didn't notice as he switched into the language Berwald had raised him speaking.

"Alfred, are you alright?" Matthew asked. Alfred turned around and glared at the older boy. Matthew hugged his polar bear tighter. Matthew backed away as Alfred snarled at him. Alfred had never been fond of Matthew or Arthur. Sure, when he thought Arthur and Berwald were just friends it was great. But now… Alfred hated Matthew for taking Erland's place. He hated Arthur for taking Tino's place. His original family.

" _Försvinn, Matthew, jag vill inte ha dig här_ ," ( _Go away, Matthew, I don't want you here_.)Alfred said. Matthew winced at the harsh words. He didn't actually understand Swedish, or Finnish for that matter, but Alfred's tone told him all he needed to know. Matthew walked back inside.

"Excuse me?" Alfred's mourning was broken by an accented voice. He turned and looked at the speaker, his sky blue eyes meeting sapphire blue ones.

"What," Alfred spat. The man looked startled, but smiled charmingly.

"I do apologize. I just thought these clippers might be yours." the man held out a familiar pair of clippers, "They washed into my yard just down the stream."

"Oh. Um, sorry. Thanks," Alfred said, scrubbing at his face.

"No, don't apologize. Are those your roses?" the man asked.

"Yeah. Er, they were. They're dead. And not just for the winter," Alfred answered.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. If I may so inquire, what is your name?" the man asked.

"Oh. Yeah. Alfred. Alfred F. Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna. What's yours?" Alfred asked.

"Francis Bonnefoy. That name of yours, it is quite… interesting," Francis said. Alfred laughed.

"The first one is Finnish, the second is Swedish," Alfred replied. Francis nodded.

"Ah. Alas, my name has no such interesting roots. I am merely a Frenchman," Francis replied. Alfred limped closer to the wall.

"I've never been to France, but I've always been interested in it. My step brother, Matthew, knows Canadian French. But he can't understand me when I speak in European French. Or any other language I know, so it's fun to watch him squirm," Alfred said, laughing.

"Really? You don't think that's a bit mean?" Francis asked. Alfred missed the glint in the man's eyes.

"Not at all. Like, after Tino and Erland… well. After the Calamity, Arthur just waltzed into our lives. He came in and brought Peter and Matthew, as if it would make it all better! Arthur tries and acts like he's my papa, but he'll never replace Tino. I mean, after the marriage, dad tried to get me to change my name like he did, but I wouldn't betray Tino like that. I mean. And then Matthew comes in, acting like he's my older brother? And then Peter's a complete brat! I hate them so much," Alfred ranted. His eyes met Francis' and he smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry for dumping all that on you," Alfred said, rubbing the back of his head.

Francis laughed, "Do not worry about it. I do not mind."

"Yeah, it's just weird. Like, I don't even tell my best friends about that stuff, why am I telling you?" Alfred asked, redundantly. Francis smiled.

"No, I am honoured that you think so highly of me already. While you seem in such a sharing mood, would you mind telling me why you need that walking stick?" Francis asked. Alfred cocked his head, but felt compelled to answer him.

"Um. I was, uh, born with a clubbed foot. It, uh, wasn't until dad married Arthur that we had enough money for the surgery. I guess that was one thing Arthur was good for," Alfred answered. He furrowed his brow. _Why did I tell him that? I haven't even told the other's about that! I mean, they know that I have a prosthetic leg but… why did I tell him?_ Alfred thought. Just then, he heard the garage door opening. Alfred looked back and rolled his eyes. Arthur stiffened at the sight of Francis, who smiled.

"Ah. When you said 'Arthur', _mon cheri lapin_ , I did not think that you meant Alfred Kirkland! What a pleasant surprise," Francis said. Alfred's eyes widened and he looked between the two. _Great! I meet an attractive older man, and it turns out he and Arthur are old friends! Great!_ Alfred thought, _Wait. Attractive?! Well. It's not like it isn't true._

"Pleasant is one word for this. What are you doing in America, Frog?" Arthur asked.

"I merely wished to move here. I do not think that is against the laws, is it?" Francis smirked, resting his chin on his folded arms. Arthur smacked the man's arms until Francis removed them from the wall.

Arthur sniffed, "If you'll excuse us, Alfred and I will be going inside. Alfred. Dinner is ready. Come along."

"I'll be there in just a minute. I forgot my walking stick over there. Go in without me," Alfred said. Arthur looked to Alfred's hand he usually kept the stick in. It wasn't there. Arthur shrugged and walked towards the door.

"You didn't leave your walking stick. You used it earlier when we were talking," Francis said. Alfred brought the walking stick out from behind him, unhooking it from the back of his bomber jacket.

"Arthur says he can do magic. But he's terrible and sleight of hand," Alfred said, grinning. Francis grinned as well.

"You have a phone, _oui_?" Francis asked. Alfred nodded. Francis whipped out a pen and brought Alfred's arm close to him, writing out his number, "Text or call anytime you want to talk."

"How old are you, dude?" Alfred asked.

Francis laughed, "Old enough to know things, but young enough to not understand them."

"Alright. Thanks dude, here's mine." Alfred did as Francis had, though at the end he put a star.

"Have a good night, Alfred."

"You too, Francis."

MOST SPECIES OF ROSE HAS FIVE PETALS, BUT ROSA SERICEA HAS ONLY FOUR

Francis looked at the number on his arm and smiled. _Alfred F. Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna. The name suits him, though I never pegged him as a foreigner._ Francis programmed the number into his phone, happily putting Alfred's name as the contact. _And then his leg. It's no wonder I was drawn to him. He's just my type of prey. Wounded._ Francis sent the first text.

 _Francis: Bonjour! Alfred? This is Francis._

 _Alfred: Ha ha, wow dude. Never expected you to text this soon. Yeah, this is Alfred._

 _Francis: I merely wished to wonder if I had read your horrendous handwriting correctly._

 _Alfred: Rude. (ˆJˆ)_

 _Francis: That's an… interesting face._

 _Alfred: Ha ha, I have more. ;p_

 _Francis: Didn't that horrible man say dinner was ready?_

 _Alfred: Yea, but I'm good at sleight of hand. It's good for hiding my phone under the table._

 _Francis: Still, I would hate for you to get in trouble. For now, I shall bid you adieu!_

 _Alfred: Adieu, mon ami._

 _Francis: Adieu, mon cheri lapin_

"L'f'r'd, A'r't'h'r s'd y'u w'e'r t'k'n'g t' a n'e'g'h'b'r?" ( _Alfred, Arthur said you were talking to a neighbour?_ )Berwald asked. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah. He was actually really nice," Alfred answered.

"R'l'y? D' y'u l'k'e h'm?" Berwald asked.

"Francis? Yeah. He's pretty cool," Alfred said.

"Is he who you were texting under the table?" Mathias asked. Alfred glared slightly at his uncle, "You're good, kid. But remember who taught you how to do sleight of hand. Is he that attractive?" Alfred blushed again.

"W-well. He, uh, he's… shut up!" Mathias laughed again and Alfred poked at his food.

"You like him, you want him to _knulla dig_ ," **(A/N: Ya'll can google this one if you want a translation)** Mathias teased. Alfred threw a piece of broccoli at Mathias.

" _Håll käften! Ingen frågade dig, Mathias,_ " ( _Shut up! Nobody asked you, Mathias_ ) Alfred exclaimed.

" _Du är inte att förneka det, lilla_ ," ( _You're not denying it, little one_ ) Mathias teased.

" _Så? Det betyder inte att det är sant_ ," ( _So? Doesn't mean it's true!_ ) Alfred responded.

" _Är det?_ " ( _Is it?_ ) Mathias asked. Alfred blushed.

" _Kanske. Jag menar, jag säger inte att det inte är. Men jag också säger inte att det är_ ," ( _Maybe. I mean, I'm not saying it's not. But I'm also not saying it is._ ) Alfred responded.

"Daddy, what are they saying?" Peter asked.

"N't a'p'r'o'i't'e f'r s'm'o'n'e y'u'r a'g," ( _Not appropriate for someone your age_ ) Berwald said.

" _Det är helt! Åh, jag vill träffa den här mannen! Det har varit så länge sedan du har varit med någon,_ " ( _It totally is! I want to meet this man! It's been so long since you've been with someone._ ) Mathias laughed.

" _Käften idiot. Berwald sa att det inte är lämpligt för middagsbordet. Om du vill prata med Alfred om detta, gör det senare. Företrädesvis efter middagen,_ " ( _Shut up, idiot. Berwald said it isn't appropriate for the table. If you want to talk to Alfred about this, do it later._ **[A/N: Or something like that. I don't remember exactly]** ) Mathias' husband, Lukas, said, "And speak English."

"Aw, why you gotta ruin the fun like that, Lukas?" Alfred and Mathias spoke in unison.

"Because you're confusing the Brits," Lukas said.

"So…?" Alfred asked.

"You don't care, do you?" Peter asked.

" _Nej_!" Alfred just laughed at the outraged and confused looks on people's faces.

THE ROSE HAS BEEN SEEN AS A SYMBOL OF LOVE, SYMPATHY AND SORROW FOR CENTURIES

 **So. Lotta little A/Ns in there. Sorry about that. I try not to use those, but I find them necessary sometimes. I do apologize for the fucked up Swedish. I don't actually know Swedish. I know Danish, so I used the words I know are the same between the two languages and the rest is google translate. It's like "C'mon girl, you now Chinese Mandarin but you don't know Swedish?! Get it together!" Anyway! Didja like this? This is the first human AU I've done. Like, ever. 'm not completely sure if France is gonna be human or some kind of supernatural creature. Give me your opinions in the , here's the relationships. Alfred is Berwald and Tino's oldest biological son, made through a surrogate mother. At the time of the birth of their second son, Erland, he was five years old. Erland was through a different surrogate. Six years later, Tino, Erland and Alfred are in a car crash that kills Tino and leaves Erland in a coma. Around a year later, Berwald met Arthur and his two sons Matthew and Peter. Arthur helped to pay for Alfred's surgery (amputating his clubbed foot and helping to pay for the prosthetic). A year after that Berwald and Arthur got married. At the setting of the story, Alfred is 16. Matthew is 17. Peter is 10, the same age as Erland. Erland is not dead, he is only in a coma. But, then again, who knows what could happen!**

 **Mathias: Denmark (Dadmark)**

 **Lukas: Norway (Norgay)**

 **Emil (not really mentioned, but he's there): Iceland (Sonland)**

 **Berwald: Sweden (Thnks fr th mmrs)**

 **Tino: Finland (Santa)**

 **Erland: Ladonia (Scar Face)**

 **Peter: Sealand (Bratland)**

 **Arthur: England (Iggybrows)**

 **Matthew: Canada (Who? Kidding. Overlord Canada Mom)**

 **Francis: France (Better Than Yo Ass)**

 **Those are the names. The ones in parentheses are my nicknames for them. Ignore those. If you know the names, great! It's just some of the Nordics don't have canon names and sometimes people who are new are unaware of the fact that the Nations all have human names, but yeah.**

 **Until Next Time, this is Italy's Driving saying;** _ **That's All Folks!**_


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